Vacuus Cymba
by Mattwho81
Summary: On a derelict ship the Storm Heralds make a terrible discovery and learn of the emergence of a new nightmare. The Imperium will never be the same for Time of Ending has begun. This story is a sequel to my previous story Carpe Posterum.
1. Chapter 1

**Vacuus Cymba: Chapter 1**

Darkness was everywhere this far into deep space, the cold unforgiving vacuum was filled only with the distant glints of uncaring stars and even the local sun was barely more than a glimmer at this distance. Out by the boundary of the Heliopause space became vast and empty in a way no human mind could comprehend, even the vast bulk of starships typically preferred to enter real space far closer to the warmth of interplanetary space. Yet today the quiet emptiness was disturbed by movement, the first time signs of life had been seen here in a billion years.

Spinning gently in the void was a large cylinder, it was as long as a strike craft yet far thicker and more robust with Imperial aquilla's engraved on its hull. One end was covered in plasma thrusters, still warm from a sustained burn and the other was a forest of drill heads and grappling claws. It was an Imperial boarding torpedo and it moved with deadly intent seeking a target in the infinite blackness.

Far behind it the distant silhouette of a Hunter class destroyer was shrinking into a tiny speck but before it a new shape was emerging. A hunk of metal that was encrusted with soaring towers and flying buttresses, one end was an elongated launch bay and the other a mass of plasma drives.

It was a sleek predator of deep space, with the speed and manoeuvrability of an escort yet the mass and armour of a Cruiser. Massive gunports loomed open all along its sides and spine, gaping maws promising annihilation to all they saw, for this was the unmistakeable image of an Astartes strike cruiser. For millennia these vessels had been the doom of heretics, the sight of such a ship blazing into battle often the last thing traitors ever saw.

Yet this ship was not roaring through space on a comet tail of plasma, today it was merely drifting on minimal power with its running lights subdued and gunports closed. It was not responding to hails and it was not broadcasting identifications or hololithic pennants, it could easily be mistaken for a dead wreck save for the tiny bursts of manoeuvring thrust that kept it on course. The ship was spinning slowly in the emptiness and if there had been eyes to see then they could have discerned on its hull the name 'Mainfest Destiny'.

With what appeared to be crawling speed the boarding torpedo closed on the unresponsive ship but then as the perspective shifted the two appeared to leap together, their relative speeds making them seem to hurtle together. The Torpedo's auspex detected the oncoming mass of metal and suddenly the forward drill heads were awakened and began to spin.

The cylinder plunged towards the ship's hull which appeared to be a cliff of adamantium and it seemed that the torpedo must surely be dashed to pieces. Two seconds before impact the torpedo's nosecone lit up with the blaze of Magna-Meltas, multiple rows of weapons sending out a stream of sub-fusion fire.

The ship's hull glowed and bubbled for an instant under the intensity of the blast then the torpedo crashed into it. The drill heads spun and chewed away at the weakened metal tearing a large hole as grappling claws shot out to impale the hull. Motors whined back and pulled the cables taut then inexorably the entire torpedo pulled itself into the ship.

The outer hull gave way as the torpedo dragged itself within and tore through the internal decks like hot knife through butter until its momentum was finally spent. It sat inert with its skin steaming from the heat of its violent entry, then nozzles began spraying quick setting foam sealant around the entry wound. Soon the hole had been sealed against the vacuum of space and then finally the silence fell as the Torpedo's machine spirit went into slumber.

For long seconds nothing happened then the torpedo's forwards hatch ground open, lifting the drillheads away to reveal a passage running back up the cylinder's length. Ready and waiting behind that hatch were a line of armour clad beings, it would have been easy to take them for mere battle brothers of the Adeptus Astartes but these were as far beyond them as Space Marines were beyond mortals.

Their armour was thick beyond belief and it had been reinforced with exoskeletons and layer upon layer of adamantium plates. Their helms were swollen with aupsex sensors and superior comms gear giving them a muzzled bulldog expression. Their weapons were so large that they would have appeared comical had it not been for their lethal power and the few who had seen them and lived to tell of it would swear there was no deadlier armament in the galaxy.

Their plate was decorated with countless laurels of victory, heraldry attesting to their mighty achievements and purity scrolls earned by zealous training and the endless honing of their skills. Each one was a hero among heroes, a warrior elevated beyond the power of their lesser kin and a man whom whole armies would follow to hell and back.

For these were the feared First Company veterans, the legendary Terminators and they were clad in the colours of the Storm Heralds.

One by the one the massive Terminators lumbered out of the boarding Torpedo, making deck plates rattle and bend under their ludicrous weight until five of them stood in a defensive ring around the entrance. Four of them swept the space with Storm bolters and their power fists were already crackling with energy but the fifth effortlessly hefted a Heavy Flamer as if it weighed nothing.

With the area secured two more Marines stepped out into the dim light, these were of an entirely different order, the first wore bright red armour that had been heavily modified with augmetics and input jacks. He bore a large servo arm over one shoulder and his shoulders were marked with the bisected skull icon of the Cult Mechanicus, below that was etched the name 'Hevostan'.

The other Marine wore Terminator armour but it was an entirely different order of creation and from his back flew a large banner declaring his innumerable victories. Whereas the squad wore the classic but restrictive Indomitus pattern this warrior was fitted with the more sophisticated and agile Tartaros pattern. He had an electromagnetic longsword drawn in his fist and clenched a combi-plasma in the other.

His colours were also subtly different, the broad pauldrons and helm wreathed in gold leaf and heavy gold chains that were draped across his chest. He was a glorious sight and one that only one Space Marine in a thousand was permitted to display, for his was the heraldry of a First Captain and his name was Athead.

The Sergeant of the Terminators was sweeping the corridor ahead with a hefty storm bolter, he could not turn around in his awe inspiring plate but said over the Vox, "Entrance achieved without resistance Captain, bridgehead secured: no threats detected."

Athead stood resplendently in his glorious armour and declared, "Excellent work Sergeant Starn, everybody be sharp, the Manifest Destiny went missing without trace over thirty years ago. There has been no word of it since and for it suddenly to appear on the edge of Angle's Redoubt system is highly suspicious, be ready for anything."

"As you command" replied Starn then Athead turned to Hevostan and said "Honoured Techmarine, can you access the ships log's from here?"

Hevostan answered in surprisingly rich baritone voice, "The Machine Spirits are subdued and unresponsive, I will require a direct hard point connection to access the Logic Engine. I would recommend the bridge as the best place to obtain the Manifest Destiny's logs."

Athead nodded and said, "Sergeant Starn deploy your squad, you know what to do."

"As you wish" replied Starn then he turned to address his Terminators saying, "Brother Lorath take up the rearguard and be alert for stalkers, Brother Zeax keep near the centre there is no telling where enemies may come from and we will need your Heavy Flamer."

Then he turned to the last two Terminators saying, "Brothers Priyar and Brother Toran, you will take point, clear us a path to the bridge and let nothing stand in your way."


	2. Chapter 2

**Vacuus Cymba: Chapter2**

In the dim compartments of the Manifest Destiny the Terminators advanced in lockstep, their pace measured yet with an unstoppable momentum behind it. Taking point Brother Toran was sweeping for threats and alert for dangers, yet at the same time was fighting his irritation at the situation.

He had seen Terminators in action before and been amazed by their power and endurance, their ability to withstand anything the enemy could throw at them. Yet watching from afar and actually wearing Tactical Dreadnought plate were two very different things, he had never grasped how awkward, restrictive and top heavy the armour was. Despite years of intensive training Toran still couldn't shake the sensation that he was hunching over and every step made him feel like he was falling forwards.

The bulk of the plate was unwieldy and cumbersome; he could not turn at the waist and could barely move his head, if he wanted to look at something he had to stomp completely about. The suit's inbuilt sensorium and squad network was supposed to compensate but all it did was create a furious blizzard of icons and inputs in his visual field. It was only thanks to his hundreds of hours of rigorous exercise that he could make any sense at all of what he was seeing.

In fact his entire experience in First Company had been disappointing; instead of glorious combat he had only engaged in ceremonial details and endless drills. He had always known the veterans were the best of the best but he had failed to grasp how much of that came from arduous and extreme training, even by Space Marine standards it had been gruelling.

He had seen other brothers come and go through the preparation courses while he himself had been held back time and time again. In his more charitable moments he told himself it was because he was barely a hundred years old, quite junior compared to most Veterans, yet he had never managed to shake the suspicion that the senior brothers disliked him. His elevation had come with the stink of political manoeuvring surrounding it and he suspected that many believed that he was not really worthy of a place among the vaunted heroes of the Chapter.

Still after seven years of passing every test and proving himself over and over he had finally been granted a place in a combat squad and sent out to fight. Determined to establish his right to be here Toran continuously scanned his environment noting every alcove and ascending ramp that could conceal an ambush.

As the squad moved up the decks of the ship they emerged onto a long observation gallery on the upper hull, lined with large armourglass panels that showed the distant stars set into the obsidian sky. Toran had served on this ship before and knew such places were not useless affections but actually served for close visual observation of objects and planetary bodies. Despite forty millennia of void travel humans still had not shaken the instinctive need to see something with their own eyes.

Toran also knew that this was where their path diverged, either heading upwards towards the bridge or deeper into the ship's hull. He paused in his step, the cumbersome Terminator armour realigning his exoskeleton to ensure he didn't fall over.

His squad mates Priyar and Zeax paused with him and asked, "Is there a problem?"

Toran said, "I have an idea, we may not have to go to the bridge itself."

Zeax replied "Keep it to yourself, do not waste Captain Athead's time with your fancies."

Toran gritted his teeth for Zeax was a brutally direct warrior with no time for consideration of the wider situation. Toran knew he had won countless laurels for his deeds but he could not help finding the attitude limiting and restraining. Toran knew the importance of obedience and discipline, especially as he was the junior now but he had hoped on actual deployment he would be able to contribute ideas.

Their momentary pause had not gone unnoticed and Sergeant Starn stomped over saying, "Why have you stopped?" Starn was a veritable hero of the Chapter who had survived countless suicide missions which he loudly attributed to his dogmatic application of the Codex Astartes. Many called him pedantic, unimaginative and inflexible which he took as high praise.

Toran faced him and said, "Sergeant, I have served on this ship before, there is another route that branches off from here. It leads directly to the primary Logic Engine; it is far closer than the bridge and it will be easier to access the logs from there."

Starn's expression was unreadable under his thick helm but his irritation was evident in his voice as he said, "Are you questioning our orders, do you think you know better than the Captain?"

Toran was insulted that anyone would say he questioned orders but stood his ground and said, "I am presenting an alternative option to achieve our objectives."

Before Starn could reply Captain Athead interrupted their conversation barking, "Squad hold here and form a perimeter, Toran attend me."

Instantly the squad spread out in a circle and Toran stomped about to face the First Captain, knowing he was about to be given a drubbing. Athead looked him up and down then said, "Toran, I have heard your name before and the word is that you are too clever by half. Always questioning, always thinking, well you will not enjoy the laxity of the Reserve Companies here, this is First Company and we expect better."

Athead brandished his electromagnetic longsword in both hands and said, "Do you know whose sword this is?"

Toran swallowed and nodded for there was no Storm Herald alive who would not instantly recognise the Chapter's most holy relic. The icon which had been granted to them at their founding as a gesture of respect from the Macragge itself, he said without equivocation, "Yes sir that is the Sword of Thiel."

Athead stared at him and said, "Yes the blade carried by Aeonid Thiel himself, the great captain who stood by the side of the Primarch in the days of the Horus Heresy. Do you think such an officer rose to such a lauded position by questioning orders? Can you imagine a man such as Aeonid Thiel ever doing such a thing as questioning orthodoxy or doubting a superior?"

Toran couldn't actually answer that for the details of that legendary officer's life were lost to the mists of ancient history, his deeds and words were nought but ink on a crumbling scroll or encased in datacrystals on a dusty shelf. All the modern Storm Heralds knew was Thiel's name and rank.

Still Toran knew what answer he was supposed to give so said, "No sir!"

Athead nodded and said, "You would do well to heed his example."

The Captain stomped past and the squad formed up and moved on Toran felt his shame burning hot. He tried to remind himself that it was not his place to question the First Captain; still it was difficult not to resent him. Sergeant Starn had a reputation for his strict interpretation of orders but Captain Athead went beyond that into an actual quest for perfection from those under his command.

In Toran's experience that translated into making him a cruel martinet with no capacity to listen to the ideas of others and the Captain seemed to think his own opinions were given to him by the Divine Emperor himself. Still the litany of victories Athead and his company had won was staggering so Toran had to consider that it was he who was in the wrong.

As the Terminators reformed brother Lorath said over the vox link with relish, "About time someone put you in your place, how the Divine Emperor allowed you into the rank and file let alone First Company is beyond me."

Toran sighed to himself, for some reason Lorath had taken an intense personal dislike to him from the second he had been elevated. Toran had no idea what he had done to annoy his brother but found him spiteful and snide, it also did not help that like most of First Company he was an ardent Emperor Worshipper. Toran refused to sink to his level and responded, "It does the spirit good to be humbled occasionally and we all must remember our purpose is to serve Him on Terra."

Lorath snapped off the link dismissively but another voice cut in on a private frequency, it was Brother Priyar and he was saying, "Don't take it personally; he is just irked because you had a good idea."

Toran was pleased that Priyar was assigned alongside him, for unlike most of the stern and dour warriors of First Company this brother was warm and friendly. Since joining Priyar was the only brother he had met who Toran could actually talk with, he was also the only soul in the Company that Toran had not heard spouting dogma about the Divinity of the Emperor.

Toran said, "Captain Athead did not seem to agree."

Priyar chuckled over their private link and said, "I have served with Athead for a long time, he is a great warrior but he does tend to see the Company as an extension of his will. You just need to learn how to present ideas to him as if they were his own."

Toran tried to shake his head but his helm's muzzle butted into the gorget of his armour as he said, "And what of Lorath?"

Priyar sighed and said, "Lorath is an accomplished warrior and has been in first Company for two centuries but he is desperate for command, even of a squad. Regrettably he does not inspire those around him; he knows he is destined to be a Terminator, which is why he resents you so much."

Toran was puzzled and said, "I do not follow."

"Really? I thought you knew" said Priyar sounding surprised, "The word is that Chapter Master Gorgall himself has taken a personal interest in your career. Nobody understands why but rumour says that you are being fast-tracked onto the Command pathway, too fast for many and lot of the veterans are determined to prove you should not be here."

Toran was stunned by the candid admission and lapsed into thoughtful silence as the squad proceeded along the gallery. They passed under the high arching windows and marched in lockstep towards a large gateway that led up to the bridge.

Just as they were about to pass into a corridor wide enough for them all to walk side by side Toran's integrated auspex lit up as it detected something closing on their position. His sensorium swept the corridor ahead, creating an illuminated image of what was closing and he could see every detail like they were inches away.

Ahead were dozens of filthy ragged men running towards him, yet their skin was scaled and their robes billowed inhumanly suggesting extra limbs. At their head were a gang of creatures that could not be further from human, their faces disgustingly alien and they were encased in chitin armour from which protruded four arms tipped with razor sharp rending claws.

Toran raised his storm bolter and yelled, "Genestealers!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Vacuus Cymba: Chapter 3**

Down the length of the corridor the mass of chitinous flesh rolled forwards in an unstoppable wave, the hybrids waving snub pistols in their extra arms and the purestrains leaping forwards with rending claws extended. They were a vision from the worst nightmares of man, the primordial fear of the predators in the dark made real and brought to life in vast numbers.

Facing them were was a thin line of Terminators waiting with weapons ready, they formed a wall of Adamantium resistance, firm and unwavering in the face of horror. On and on the foe came, racing forwards in the desire to rip, tear and feast. Then came the moment when they crossed an invisible boundary and the Terminators opened fire, a thunderous roar accompanied the tongues of fire that leapt from their weapons as they spat rounds in a frenzy of carnage.

A bolter was a Space Marine's instrument of judgement, a mighty vessel for all his fury and hate but Storm Bolters made them look like child's toys. The rate of fire was tremendous, the double barrels glowing red hot as they unleashed a hail of destruction and the violence of their recoil would have shattered a mortal man's bones.

In the narrow confines of the corridor the genestealers had no room to dodge and the bolts inevitably found their flesh. The hybrids had no defence against the power of the mass reactive shells and the rounds blew off limbs and exploded chest cavities creating a gruesome mist of gore.

Standing in the line Toran held onto his juddering Storm bolter as the weapon bucked and kicked in his fist, sweeping his firing arc back and forth to decimate foes. There was a good reason regular marines didn't carry these temperamental armaments but his Terminator plate compensated smoothly and kept the twin barrels unerringly on target.

Behind the blizzard of targeting icons and threat assessments that filled his vision he could see the wave of flesh being forced back by the power of the rounds, a dam wall of broken corpses blocking the corridor. The devastation was astounding, the precision and power of the barrage mowing down Xenos left and right, everything the Terminators targeted died… right up till the storm bolters ran dry.

The barrage ceased as the squad discharged magazines and reached for fresh ones but in that moment the genestealers poured over their dead and hurtled forwards.

A wave of grasping claws reached out for them and the air filled with an inhuman hissing noise, as they undulated into combat. A few seconds before they could touch the armour of the Terminators Brother Zeax squeezed the trigger of the Heavy Flamer and let loose wide streams of fire.

A blazing fireball filled the corridor setting alight the rags and robes of the hybrids, the air filled with licking flames and black smoke as flailing corpses fell to the deck and rolled about in agony. It seemed for a moment that the charge had been held but then the purestrains leapt through the flames, chitin armour steaming but unbroken.

Toran saw a leaping shadow of claw and fangs soaring towards him, he knew it was pointless trying to evade in his bulky plate so braced himself and activated his power fist. The purestrain fell upon him from above and its sharp talons racked a vicious blow across his upper carapace. Had he been wearing conventional plate the force of the impact would have driven him to his knees but the reinforced exoskeleton of his suit took the extra inertia without even swaying and kept him upright.

The creature lashed at his face and opened its mouth to jab a sharp proboscis at his face but Toran was not taking this affront without response. With ponderous inevitability he swung his power fist about and caught the beast right in the centre of its chest, the momentum of the blow was akin to a pile driver and the energy of the crackling field tore it apart at a molecular level.

With one mighty swing Toran ripped the foul alien into two, hurling the remains away to slither lifelessly across the floor. He did not pause in his attack but used the momentum of the blow to drive himself forwards, stomping into battle like a tank seeking more targets.

There was no artistry or grace to fighting in Tactical Dreadnought plate, the encasing bulk and weight made it impossible to dodge parry or avoid, for Terminators fighting was all about momentum, inertia and brutal force. Once in motion one could never risk stopping and the warrior had to walk with utter contempt for the blades of the foe, dealing destruction with ruthless, relentless determination.

Toran waded through the packed purestrains, claws and fangs denting and chipping his plate, some gouged deeply into the thick ceramite but the multiple layers of adamantium beneath held true and he was unharmed. In return his power fist rose and fell over and over like some mighty piston and every hammerblow obliterated a foe with crushing force.

He felt his contempt growing for the foe, their vile mockery of the human form offending him and their skittering movements loathsome to him. He had been briefed that the genestealers were native to the moons of Ymgarl and become a plague upon the stars, polluting the righteous genetics of mankind. A scourging of their nest by the Salamanders Chapter had failed to burn out the corruption and in recent centuries encounters with them had grown exponentially but Toran was determined to stop their cancer this time.

As he waded through the mass of heaving chitin he saw Hevostan grappling a purestrain with his servo arm, holding it by the neck as he dismembered it limb by limb with a short handled power axe. Behind him Lorath had a hold on a purple skull with his great fist, he squeezed hard and the Xeno's head imploded like a crushed egg.

From the flames charged a trio of purestrains, Captain Athead met them with a two handed swing of his longsword. The Sword of Thiel carved through molecules with its energised field and with one mighty swipe he cut all three down.

Meanwhile Zeax was holding a genestealer at bay with his power fist, the creature lashed and clawed at him but he responded by ramming his Heavy Flamer into its guts so hard it cracked the Chitin armour. He feathered the trigger and the genestealer roared in agony as it burned from the inside out.

Sergeant Starn was sweeping his powerfist in wide arcs, every movement smashing genestealers into pulped wreckage, they fell back hissing before him but he pursued as an unstoppable juggernaut. Behind him Priyar followed in close step covering his back, he had reloaded his storm bolter and fired off controlled burst that burst apart any foe trying to flank them.

The battle was going well and the Terminators were decimating their foes, Toran took a moment to deactivate his fist's power field and reloaded his storm bolter but that very moment something new emerged from the smoke. Leaping high above the licking flames was a beast unlike any other; its legs were far longer and backward jointed giving it an insect like appearance.

The beast slammed hard and Toran saw its face was a mass of grasping tendrils and it had two massive scything talons arching up over its shoulder blades, coiled with tensile strength. He threw his weight hard about to face the Xeno but was just too slow in the heavy bulk of his Terminator plate, before he could target the Xeno it spread its arms wide and from its rib like chest shot a forest of flesh hooks.

Toran snarled in anger as the hooks ensnared his limbs, wrapping around his body in a fleshy cocoon. With a whip snapping motion the tendrils pulled taut and he was hauled off balance to be dragged into the vile alien's cruel embrace. He was dragged helplessly across the floor and the Xeno screamed in triumph as it raised its scything talons high then stabbed them down to impale his back.

Had Toran been clad in conventional armour his life would have ended right there but as the talons stabbed into his back the ridiculously thick adamantium under sheath took the blows and held firm. Toran was left standing there as the Xeno shrieked in outrage and tried to smoother his head in its mouth tendrils.

With irresistible strength Toran forced his arms apart creating a minute gap and levered his Storm Bolter up between them, then with a twitch of his finger he pulled the trigger. A stream of explosions erupted between the grappling foes smashing into both of them with spine jarring force.

Toran felt like he was being shaken apart by the thunder of the detonations, he could feel his teeth cracking as they rattled in his gums and his eyes puffed with blood from broken vessels. Yet as bad as it was for him it was worse for the Xeno, without his mighty armour to protect it the rounds cut deeply into its flesh and they blew through its chest to leave gaping holes. Vile purple blood sprayed over Toran and covered his eye lenses but the desperate move blew the creature off him, leaving it a pile of stinking viscera on the deck.

Toran wiped his eyes clear and looked about to see that the rest of the squad had finished off the remaining genestealers and silence at last fell upon them. The Terminators had crushed the Xeno invaders utterly and without losing a single man.

They checked the piles of foes and confirmed they were all truly dead as Captain Athead declared, "Thus perish all enemies of the Divine Emperor!"

Toran was only half listening as he kicked at the remains off the vile creature that had almost killed him and said, "My hypno-indoctrination instilled no memories of such a Genestealer type, is this fiend something new?"

The others gathered round his unusual kill in curiosity, assessing its potential threat and mentally running theoreticals about how to destroy it but it was Hevostan who cried in alarm, "That is no Genestealer that is a Tyranid of the Lictor genus!"

Toran raised his head in bewilderment and looked at the Techmarine saying "What is a Tyranid?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Vacuus Cymba: Chapter4**

In the observation gallery the Storm Heralds were gathered around the corpse of the Lictor beast trying to understand what they were seeing. Hevostan was crouching down to examine the Xeno, he removed several probes from his belt and began inserting them one by one into the dead flesh.

The Techmarine said, "Curious, there was an Inquisitor named Kryptman who hypothesised that the genestealers were connected to the Tyranid hives but that was widely dismissed as contrary to accepted doctrine on Mars. Yet these gene markers indicate that they are actually subspecies of the same race, it is extremely unorthodox."

Toran stood watching him as he said, "You still have not explained what a Tyranid is."

"It does not matter" snapped Captain Athead, "Focus on your duties and do not get distracted by irrelevant details."

Hevostan however contradicted him saying, "Information is Victory: draw upon your memory implants brothers, focus upon the Battle of Macrgge."

One by one the squad muttered the words to trigger their hypnotic responses and Toran felt a rushing sensation as the implanted memories in his subconscious began to unfold. Every Space Marine was instilled with vast amounts of data upon his induction but there were none now who understood the enigmatic operations of the ancient teaching machines and the effects could be erratic.

It was like standing in a vast library which had lost its index; unless Toran knew exactly what he was looking for retrieving information was a random process. He focussed upon the word Tyranid and the specifics of the Battle of Macrgge, feeling the knowledge surging into his conscious mind from the locked cells of his subconscious.

The experience was like he was there to see it himself, then his jaw dropped as a wave of horror swept over him. In his mind's eye he saw endless hordes of vast bloated Hive ships sweeping across the stars like a plague of hungry locusts, pouring out of the dark of the intergalactic void into the warmth of the Milky Way.

In his implanted memories his saw the endless varieties of horrors, supposedly mindless beasts adapting and improving in a cancerous exponential growth, evolution taken beyond its normal rate to an insane extent. He witnessed planet after planet being overrun by swarms of scuttling monsters, valiant defenders consumed by nightmares made of claws and chitin.

Toran gasped as he saw capillary towers rising from the ashes and vast leviathans descending to feed, stripping worlds bare of life and leaving nought but barren airless, rock behind. He watched as they fell upon Ultramar, the jewel of the Eastern fringe, breaking the might of the Ultramarines over Prandium.

What followed was a series of doomed fall back actions until Macragge itself lay in danger, a desperate battle against impossible odds, the loss of the Ultramarines' First Company and the surety of defeat. Then at last hope arrived with the emergence of Battlefleet Bakka and one last climatic battle in orbit of Circe that was only ended with the noble sacrifice of the battleship Dominus Astra.

Everyone went weak at the knees and Priyar actually had to take a step back to steady himself he processed the information and said, "Why were we not warned about this?"

Sergeant Starn however seemed unmoved and answered, "Because there was no need, Hive Fleet Behemoth was annihilated at Macragge, all that was left were tiny splinters. They raid and ravage but none have ever penetrated this deep into Segmentum Tempestus, the Tyranid menace is over and we have more pressing concerns than a dying race."

Hevostan removed his probes and stood up then fixed his gaze on Athead and said, "Are you going to tell them or should I?"

Athead stared back in silence, furious at the presumption but Hevostan was of the order of Techmarines, not under his authority and entrusted with mysteries beyond his ken. Eventually he growled through gritted teeth, "That may not be entirely accurate."

Starn stomped about and said, "Sir is there something we should be aware of?"

Athead sounded ready to spit but said, "The last two years there have been disturbing reports from the Eastern Fringe, a fresh wave of Tyranid attacks and whole sectors have gone dark. The penitent Lamenters Chapter has disappeared and Sotha, the home of the Scythes of the Emperor, was consumed in an alien attack."

Hevostan took up the narrative and said, "There have been reports of an entirely new Hive fleet emerging, rumours are calling it 'Kraken' and they say it dwarfs Behemoth in both scale and fury. Marneus Calgar has mobilised the entire Eastern Fringe, he is calling upon all the armies of Man to regroup at Ichar IV and stand with him... one last time before the end."

Sergeant Starn sounded furious that this had been withheld from him and growled, "Then why are we here and not there?"

Athead was incensed at being questioned and barked "It was determined that we could not intervene in time to make a difference."

Toran could not help but speak out and say "Lord Macragge stands imperilled and we do nothing?!"

"We are too far away" snarled Athead, "It would take five years at best to reach Ichar IV from here; Calgar will be dead long before we can arrive."

Lorath spoke up and said, "We could still do something."

Zeax agreed saying ,"The Lord of Macragge is our spiritual liege, second only to the Divine Emperor, we are honour bound to stand with him in his hour of need.

Priyar stated resolutely "If Marneus Calgar is to die then we should be proud to die alongside him with honour."

Athead growled "The matter has been debated among the Masters of the Chapter and they decided our forces would be better utilised right here."

"Not unanimously" muttered Hevostan.

"Enough!" roared Athead, "You all squabble and question like first year aspirants, you are brothers of the First Company and will act like it!"

The squad stood admonished, their discipline returning now the moment of shock was wearing off and their rigid indoctrination made them put aside thoughts of glorious last stands. Yet Toran was eyeing the Captain and thinking about the implications of what they had learned, he wanted to argue but also remembered what Priyar had said about Athead's attitude.

Slowly Toran said, "The Captain is right." the last thing anyone had expected was for him to agree with the Captain and they turned to him in surprise as he continued, "The Eastern Fringe is a long, long way from here." Then he kicked the corpse of the Lictor and said, "So what is this doing here?"

Priyar said, "Yes this is not normal genestealer behaviour, they infiltrate and infest worlds. These beasts are scout organisms, they took over a whole ship and navigated it towards an Imperial world, they must be a vanguard for a full scale invasion force."

"Surely the orbital defences would not allow it approach without challenge" said Lorath.

Starn grunted, "This is an Astartes Strike Cruiser, I would be surprised if those quivering SDF officers even dared open a hail yet alone question its right to go wherever the hell it pleases. If we had not been alert for signs of our missing ship they would have reached Angle's Redoubt with ease."

"But why?" asked Priyar, "What does all this herald?"

Lorath replied, "Perhaps a portion of Kraken slipped past the borders and struck deeper into Imperial space looking for fertile worlds, what is richer in biomass than a Hive World?"

Starn rumbled, "All the way through Segmentum Ultima and half of Segmentum Tempestus... no it is not possible: we would have noticed. The silence of the Astropaths alone would have sent warnings racing ahead of it."

Toran said, "Perhaps not, not if it approached from another direction entirely, from above or below the galactic plane."

Athead was being quiet and said slowly as if it were his own idea, "Multiple waves of attack, Behemoth tests our defences and learns our weaknesses then Kraken attacks to draw away our forces. While we are distracted a third Hive Fleet attacks from the rear..."

They stood for moment considering the implications but then Athead shook off the introspection and said, "This is ridiculous, we credit the beasts with too much intelligence, yes they are dangerous but they remain animals. They are incapable of that sort of long term planning."

His words had barely left his lips when a rumbling vibration ran through the deck of the ship, every one of them had served on starships before and knew the distinct noise of guns being run out when they heard it. As one they turned to the great viewportals and stared helplessly out at the distant stars unable to change what they were seeing.

Before their eyes the great bulk of the Bombardment Canons were being brought to bear, targeting something beyond visual range. There was a great thud as the locks engaged and a deep rumble as the gigantic recoil dampeners clamped on, then with two enormous belches of fire the canons spoke.

Two Magma Bombs roared out of the barrels and span off into space, shrinking into pinpricks as they fled out of sight, for long seconds nothing happened then a distant flash of light announced that they had found and destroyed their target. The squad stood in silence, aghast at what they had seen then Priyar said, "That was our escort frigate: we now have no way off this ship."

Hevostan said, "Elegant proof of intelligence."

"What do we do now?" asked Lorath.

"We complete our mission" growled Athead gripping his sword tightly, "We reach the bridge and discover the full scope of this threat, if it is indeed the vanguard of a new enemy then we must destroy this vessel before they reach their goal. Form up and move out!"

With their orders given the Terminators resumed their places in the formation and marched in lockstep towards the bridge, determined to eradicate whatever they found there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Vacuus Cymba: Chapter 5**

The bridge was a smoking ruin, blown out consoles and burning servitors filling the long nave with flickering light. Smoke filled the air and the walls were cratered with bolter impacts while the command pews had been ripped apart in the clash of steel and claw.

Scattered across the decks were the bloody remains of genestealer hybrids and purestrains, they had fought viciously and with deadly skill but it had been pointless. The Terminators had waded through them with overwhelming force and cut them down in droves, their ancient plate proof against the weapons of the foe.

At the far end of the bridge the squad were engaging the last remnants of the horde, crushing and shattering chitin amour with slamming blows from their fists. A last purestrain leapt at Captain Athead and raked its claws down his plate, his glorious heraldry was marred and the golden chains of office were ripped asunder but it failed to penetrate his flesh. In return he swung the Sword of Thiel in a vertical stroke, slicing the Xeno into two neat halves that fell to the deck as the entrails spilled out.

Silence fell at last and the squad lumbered about looking for survivors but there were none, Captain Athead swiped the purple gore off his depowered blade and said, "The Broodmind cannot have failed to recognise this attack, we will not have long until more of them arrive. Sergeant Starn secure this area, Hevostan beseech the Machine Spirit for the ship's logs and be swift about it."

Hevostan rushed over to a lone surviving console an extended a mechandrite from the back of one gauntlet. He located an interface port but before connecting he first removed an incense stick from his tool belt and lit it, then he began chanting appeasing litanies from the Rites of Awakening.

Meanwhile Sergeant Starn turned his back on the sacred mysteries of the Cult Mechanicus and said, "Lorath, Zeax secure the hatch while Toran and Priyar sweep for any survivors." The squad broke up and went to their posts as Toran and Priyar began kicking over bodies and making sure there were none left alive.

As they worked Toran glanced about and realised for the first time in years he was not being closely watched, he opened a private vox link to his battle brother and said, "Priyar are you at all concerned about our situation, we are trapped on this ship with untold numbers of Xenos and no way of contacting the Chapter."

Priyar replied, "All our missions are suicidal, that is what First Company is for, trust to the Captain he will see us through."

Toran noted his wording of the phrase and casually asked as if were of no important, "The Captain, not the Emperor?"

Priyar didn't seem to catch the implications and said, "He on Terra has his duties and we have ours, what more is there to say."

Toran checked the privacy of their link was secure and asked more directly, "Tell me do you hold to the Divinity of the Emperor?"

Priyar's voice was the equivalent of a shrug as he replied, "I have never really given it much thought, I know some regard it as important but I have always concentrated on the affairs of battle. It does not matter in the end, it's not like it will change anything whether we observe to the old traditions or hold to the new faith."

Toran however knew better, he knew for a fact that the Chapter was deeply divided by this matter and that their unorthodox beliefs had left the Storm Heralds on verge of being declared Excommunicate Traitoris. He tried to sound insouciant as he asked, "And the rest of the Company?"

Priyar was starting to sound annoyed by this line of questioning but said, "Captain Athead is a firm believer in the Emperor's Divinity and the rest of the Company follows his lead but brothers like Zeax and Lorath say the words more as a matter of course than out of true belief."

Toran was making careful note of every word as he asked, "And Sergeant Starn?"

Priyar chuckled and said, "The only thing he truly believes in is the Codex Astartes, you will never meet a stauncher follower of its teachings. Why all these questions, you have never expressed any concerns before."

"Just trying to know my new brother's hearts" said Toran hurriedly then he changed the subject, "What is that you have there?"

Priyar was examining one of the corpses of the bridge crew, the man had been torn in half by a bolt round but the remaining torso was dressed in the filthy remnants of a serf's uniform. Priyar looked up as Toran approached and said, "This man was once a loyal servant of the Chapter, what was he doing working alongside monsters?"

Toran looked down sadly and said, "Genestealers do more than corrupt the genetics of their victims, once infected they draw them into the broodmind. They retain all of their skills and memories but their loyalties are subverted, they become willing servants of the Xenos."

"But this is not normal genestealer behaviour" said Priyar, "They hide and infect, travelling in the bowels of Imperial ships and slipping onto worlds unnoticed. I have never heard of them taking over a whole ship and blowing up escort frigates with our own guns."

Toran was puzzled too but said, "We have never witnessed them under the direction of a Hive Mind. These Tyranids are using our own people against us; we should not be surprised by anything they do from now on."

By the bridge console Hevostan let out a sharp cry and everybody turned round to see he had plugged into the ship and was shaking as his mind interfaced with the Machine Spirits. He quivered as his mind processed thousands of reports and log entries, running through thirty years' worth of data in seconds.

The squad held their positions but Starn and Athead marched over to stand by him, they waited long minutes as Hevostan stood stock still muttering under his breath, "Processing, processing, processing." At long last Hevostan sighed and disconnected from the console, withdrawing his mechandrite back into his gauntlet. They gave him a moment to compose himself then Athead said, "Well what did you learn?"

Hevostan drew in a deep breath and said hoarsely, "This is far worse than any of us thought, the logs show that Manifest Destiny was sent off course by a Warp Storm, far off course. They were blown right out to the Halo Zone beneath the galaxy and there they found something, a vast swarm of Tyranids, millions of Hive ships and trillions of monsters. A third Hive Fleet plunging into the galaxy."

"What happened then?" asked Starn.

Hevostan craned his head as if trying to dislodge a burr as he replied, "The ship was boarded by genestealer organisms, they killed the Navigator and Astropaths, infected the rest of crew and subsumed them into the brood consciousness. Then the logs get erratic, it seems the crew started to limp back into Imperial space, running far ahead of the Hive fleet. There are records of the crew giving birth in the dank corners of the ship, twisted abominations were spawned in the dark but they cherished them."

Athead interrupted to ask "Can you project the Hive Fleet's course?"

Hevostan answered, "The Logic engines were never repurposed, they have been running projections of the Hive's original course for thirty years. The fleet has two main tendrils; one is projected to pass Gyphonne IV and then head in the direction of Baal while the other will pass Tarsis Ultra and then… Terra."

"Terra?!" barked Athead, "The Imperium is in greater danger than we realised."

Starn however sounded confused as he said, "Wait, those worlds are a long way away, so why did the crew head here?"

Hevostan said, "The infected crew left references in the logs of splinter tendrils scouting ahead of the Hive's main bulk, one of those splinters is headed towards Angle's Redoubt."

Athead sounded aghast as he said, "If they take Angle's Redoubt the entire St Karyl Trail will be severed, the Imperium will lose one its major warp routes into the galactic south."

Hevostan replied, "It is far worse than that, this splinter is the lynchpin of the scout tendrils, between them the Shadow in the Warp will create a cordon between Segmentum's Solar and Tempestus cutting off the entire southern third of the galaxy. The Imperium will be rendered unable to divert any forces to stop the advance of the main Hive Fleet."

Starn asked, "So why did they need our ship?"

Hevostan answered, "The Manifest Destiny's holds are full of sleeping Lictors, Mawlocs, Tervigons, Warriors and genus I don't even have names for. The logs speak of preparing the way for the coming invasion; they will infiltrate and undermine any resistance Angle's Redoubt can muster. By the time the splinter tendril arrives in a few years' time the defences will be in tatters."

Athead snarled, "This is a threat beyond any we have ever imagined we must warn the Chapter."

Starn asked, "Can we activate the Vox arrays and transmit a warning?"

Hevostan shook his head, and said, "No the Vox arrays have been physically destroyed, there is no way to transmit anything from this ship. Even navigation beacons have been disabled to prevent early detection."

"Damn clever bugs" snarled Starn.

"Even our suit Vox's are too weak to be detected before it is too late" said Athead, "We must get word out some other way."

Hevostan, began making adjustments on his vambrace and said, "I am accessing the squad network and beseeching the Machine Spirits to safeguard this data, even if we die here then should any of our suits be found the Imperium can access these records."

Starn said, "That still leaves the problem of what to do about this ship."

Athead said, "We cannot allow it to deliver its cargo, we must destroy it ourselves. Hevostan can you invoke the Rite of Self-Immolation from here?"

Hevostan shook his head and said, "The reactors are cold and slumbering, it would take a great deal of time to awaken their spirits. Any hybrids in the Engineerium would detect the overload and easily override our efforts, the only way to do this would be to access the reactors themselves and destabilise the Spirits of Containment directly."

"Then our course is set" declared Athead, "The fate of the Imperium itself hangs in the balance. We must reach the Engineerium, destroy anything in our way and breach the reactors before this ship reaches its goal."


	6. Chapter 6

**Vacuus Cymba: Chapter 6**

Deep in the bowels of the ship a battle raged, the Terminators had approached the Engineerium along a disused tunnel packed with energy cables and plasma distribution conduits. They had thought the oblique approach would be undetectable, they had been wrong.

The Terminators stood in a line across the corridor, unleashing their Storm Bolters and Heavy Flamer in a torrent of destruction. Captain Athead stood proudly alongside them in his Tartaros pattern plate, losing blast after blast from his Combi-plasma as he cried, "Forwards, push forwards, let nothing stop you!"

Yet the foe they faced was unstoppable, from the bowels of the ship poured endless waves of living flesh and chitin, cascading from the Engineerium like a great river bursting its banks. It was not just genestealers either; the hive mind must have detected the threat and awoken the ship's cargo early for towering monsters were leading swarms of lesser beasts into battle, smaller but no less horrific for it.

Toran stood in the line with his Storm Bolter juddering in his grip, the continuous fire was holding the enemy at bay but he was acutely aware of the diminishing ammunition counter in his vision and the dwindling supply of magazines he had left. To his right Zeax was unleashing long bursts of Promethium from his heavy flamer, he set alight a brood of hormagaunts turning them into living candles but they pressed on regardless.

Toran spied a warrior form amongst them and redirected his weapon but before he could fire a burst from Lorath ripped it apart. With the synapse creature gone the lesser beasts at last broke and instinctively fell back from the flames.

Toran returned his attention directly ahead and spied a trio of creatures, which his hypno-indoctrination labelled Ravenors, undulating forwards with scything talons raised. He turned his bolter toward them and cut one down in a spray of explosions but the other two slithered by unharmed, they pounced and slashed down with their long talons.

The tips scored long groves across the top of his pauldrons chipping the honoured crux terminatus embedded there and Toran snarled in anger at the dishonour done to his venerable plate. He swung his power fist laterally about him and caught one Ravenor in the midriff tearing it apart in a shower of gore.

While he was distracted the third Ravenor whipped forwards and wrapped its long tail around his torso, trying to squeeze him to death. The Tactical Dreadnought plate groaned under the constricting pressure but did not break, leaving Toran wrapped in a thrashing blanket of coils.

He tried to punch the Xeno but the alien swayed and jerked pulling him off balance and he could not make contact. It was like wresting a snake, every time he tried to lash out it slithered around him stabbing and gouging with its claws all the while.

Toran swung again but missed his target and without realising it his fist over extended and impacted a plasma conduit, tearing a microscopic fissure in the casing. A razor thin stream of plasma erupted from the chink in the pipe and where it contacted the moist air it flash boiled it into vapour. Toran saw the jetting stream and before his conscious mind could even register what he was doing he was pounding forwards, ramming the bulk of the Ravenor up against the pipe.

The Xeno screamed inhumanly as its flesh charred and blackened from the heat of the fire, it reverted to instinctive behaviour and tried to disengage but Toran clamped his power fist around its throat and held firm. Inexorably he forced its head down, inch by inch as it struggled to break free but he was merciless and slowly dragged its skull into the plasma stream.

Flesh broiled and dissolved in the searing blast and Toran felt fierce joy as he watched the Xenos filth burn to ash but he did not escape unscathed himself. As he pulled back the plasma splashed up his arm and over his Power Fist, burning away the blessed casing and dissolving the energy cables before his eyes.

Terminator plate was legendarily thick and impervious but that did not make it immune. Flashing warning signs blazed in Toran's visual feed and he was forced to jettison the mighty fist from his arm, desperately ripping out cables and clamps before the plasma chewed his arm off.

Toran discarded the ruined weapon and returned to the battle seeing that Priyar was fighting off a horde of tiny ripper beasts, they engulfed him head to toe in swaddling like the fabled Pharaohs of Gyptus. Toran raised his storm bolter and let off a short burst, his brother's plate was proof against the rounds but the impact sent the tiny beasts flying, freeing him from their embrace.

There was no time for words of thanks but together they cleared a space around them and saw that Captain Athead was wading forwards through the foe, still trying to break into the Engineerium. The Sword of Thiel was rising and falling like a metronome and every swing carved apart a multi limbed horror as he pressed the attack.

At his left Hevostan was fending off foes with his servo arm while to his right Starn's fist was hammering the enemy, destroying everything that came close. Toran and the rest raced to catch up, smashing aside all in their way to stand with their Captain and it seemed for a moment that they would make it, that they would break through the horde and win the day but then a new opponent entered the fray.

From the section ahead loomed a massive shadow, standing head and shoulders above even the greatest of the warrior beasts, its hide was mottled with age and cunning dwelt in its eyes. It had two huge scything talons arching up high, a long tail sweeping out behind it and two lesser arms bearing a bonesword and a whip.

It was the very embodiment of the Hive Mind, the incarnation of its hunger and depthless cunning, the silhouette that had doomed whole worlds. Toran's memories implants flared at the very sight of it and he roared, "Hive Tyrant!"

Captain Athead however refused to be daunted by the sight, he raised his sword high as he charged and Toran lost sight of the epic duel as a fresh wave of horrors skittered past the battling pair. Thousands more leaping gaunts bounded into combat and the Terminators slammed shoulder to shoulder, forming a ring of steel. They smited the foe like the ancient mythic heroes of old yet they were few and the Tyranids had numbers beyond count.

The sheer weight of the horde was forcing them back towards the wall of the corridor, pushing them away from the Tyrant while the flashing plasma created a strobing effect that made it seem they were fighting within a nightmare. Without a power fist Toran was the weak link in the chain and he saw a warrior form charging straight at him, a blast from his storm bolter forced it back a pace but failed to penetrate its carapace.

In the momentary gap Toran saw Captain Athead was still duelling with the Hive Tyrant, the Sword of Thiel was a dazzling whirlwind of steel and somehow he had managed to chop off both lesser limbs from the monster. Yet the Hive Tyrant was not done, it loomed over the valiant Captain and screamed in fury then stabbed down on his shoulders with both its scything talons.

It was the moment upon which the whole battle would swing: hero against monster, man against beast, ancient science against alien abomination. The blessed plate met the razor barbs of the talons and almost proved its equal: almost.

With the full weight of the Hive Tyrant behind it the twin blades punched through the plate and speared deeply into the Captain's torso. Athead roared in agony as his spine was severed and he lost all feeling in his legs, the Hive Tyrant in turn roared in triumph and lifted him up towards its jaws, opening its mouth wide to swallow the dying Captain.

Even in death Athead refused to surrender and he raised his sword to land one last blow yet at the last moment he hesitated. Toran realised that the Captain had seen the embattled squad beset by Tyranids and about to be overrun. Reality paused for an instant and Toran could almost see the Captain's mind working; the glories of one last kill against the lives of his battle brothers, vengeance or duty.

With the last of his strength Athead swung his relic blade around and cried, "Take it!" as he threw it towards the embattled Terminators. Then the Hive Tyrant jerked forwards and slammed its jaws down on his head, tearing out his brains and swallowing them.

Beset by a warrior beast Toran still managed to lift one hand and snatch the spinning Sword of Thiel from the air, he grasped the hilt tightly and swung it down hard. Wrought in ancient times the sword had been the bane of Daemons themselves and its blazing energy field met Xeno chitin ripping it apart it like wet parchment.

The warrior exploded into gore and Toran lashed out left and right cutting down a Xeno with every stroke, the Sword of Thiel felt right in his hands and with it he carved apart everything in reach. He channelled his rage and contempt into the blows smiting and obliterating anything that approached him in a blaze of righteous scorn.

Yet it was not enough for the endless hordes continued to cascade out of the Engineerium section in a flood of bodies and for every Tyranid he cut down five more took its place. The Terminators stood proud in a rising ocean of chittering Xeno monsters, as Sergeant Starn shouted, "Hold the line! Die well, die proud!"

Toran looked out at the endless tide of monsters and realised the odds against them were no longer merely steep, they were insurmountable. They were all dead men and dead men have nothing to lose so Toran gathered his strength and yelled, "Zeax, Lorath, shield Hevostan!"

Instinctively the two brothers slammed their backs up against the Techmarine, guarding his form with their awesome bulk. Toran took the Sword of Thiel in both hands and held it high shouting, "We are the Emperor's Storm!"

Then with a cry of, "We are his Wrath!" he spun on his heel and sliced the blade swiftly across the chink in the plasma conduit beside him.

Metal parted and split under the power of the blow, ripping open the tiny gap into a massive tear and unleashing pure hell. Instantly star hot plasma spilled out in geyser of incandescent fury and engulfed the rising tide of Xeno abominations. Chitin melted and flesh broiled in the inferno as the monsters screeched in agony and in their cries echoed the frustration of the Hive Mind.

The conduit continued to eject burning plasma in a torrent of carnage, sweeping away all the monsters save one. For the Hive Tyrant fled with specks of plasma burning away at its hide, letting its minions die as it escaped.

Unfortunately the Terminators had no time to celebrate their victory for the plasma did not discriminate and swept over them too: drowning them in the liquid fury of a dying star.


	7. Chapter 7

**Vacuus Cymba: Chapter 7**

The alcove was grey and bare, little more than an empty space left between two huge girders in the ship's superstructure. It was a featureless and sterile place with nothing to differentiate it from a thousand other such places in the hull, which made it the perfect place for the Terminators to take refuge and regroup.

They were stood in a loose circle, regarding each other and the damage they had taken in the battle, the plasma fire had cut off the swarms and bought them time to fall back but it had been a bitter defeat. Each of them had seen their armour scorched bare by the plasma, stripped of every insignia, purity seal and laurel of victory. Even their Chapter's colours had been peeled off leaving them standing in bare ceramite and adamantium.

To add injury to insult their plate was battered and blistered, the redoubtable spirits of the armour had saved their lives but in doing so vital mechanisms and sub-systems had been fused and completely burnt out. Zeax's Heavy Flamer in particular was a molten mass of metal, twisted and useless but he was not able to drop it since it had melted around the denser metal of his arm.

Toran was standing stock still listening to the conversation, unable to move for his legs had locked solid rendering him immobile. Hevostan was kneeing by him feverishly working away at the joints with his tools and that was the least of the squad's hurts. The Techmarine had been left no options but to take all their Machine Spirits off line while he affected emergency field repairs and the squad was effectively helpless until he finished.

Toran felt odd to be locked in cold metal plate, he could barely move his arms and they were so slow and clumsy he felt he was moving underwater but in truth he was far more concerned about Hevostan. The techmarine had been shielded from the blast by the bulk of his brothers but even so he had still suffered far worse than any of them.

His servo arm was reduced to slag while his right arm was clenched firmly against his abdomen as if holding something important in still within him. Worse than that was the silence, he had not uttered a word as they fell back from the Engineerium and when they stopped had done nothing but mutely tend to their gear. Toran dragged his attention back to the conversation; they had removed their helms for the vox net was off line and it seemed peculiar to be able to see everybody's faces.

Priyar had the swarthy complexion common to natives of the southern archipelagos of their homeworld and he was saying, "I do not understand how they awoke so many beasts in time to stop us, it was almost like they knew we were coming."

Zeax's face was a mass of burned scar tissue, a lifetime of war disguising his origins as he replied, "They did."

Priyar said, "But how?"

Starn had the gaunt features indicative of those who lived on the three tiny continents of Lujan II, the Chapter rarely recruited there, seeing the people of the urban slums as weak and lacking in moral fibre. Starn however had proved that to be wrong with a lifetime of valourous service and was saying, "The original crew was subsumed by the genestealers, the Hive Mind knows everything the crew did, it knows how we think and how we fight."

Lorath had the sharp angular features of a native of Trux, a world much valued for the ferocity of its natives and was saying, "Either way it forced us into a humiliating defeat, us the supposedly invincible brothers of First Company…. Retreating."

The word made everybody squirm, the very notion of retreating anathema to any Space Marine but Toran countered him saying, "A tactical withdrawal, to reassess the Theoretical and enact a new Practical."

Lorath snarled at him and said, "Don't think you have a place to talk here, that stunt with the plasma nearly ended the mission and almost killed us all."

Priyar barked back, "That stunt saved your life, you should be thanking him."

Starn agreed and said, "The Codex is clear on this matter, the Primarch never endorsed pointless last stands. He wrote that if an objective could not be taken it must be circumvented."

"So what now?" snapped Lorath

Starn said, "The Engineerium is out of our reach, the Codex lists the next viable target as being the Auxillary Bridge. We could override Astrogation and steer this ship into the nearest dead moon."

Hevostan seemed to have finished with Toran's plate and moved on to Zeax's shaking his head at the sight of the melted flamer. Toran watched him with concern as he said, "That will not work either… you said it yourself the Hive Mind knows our tactics, it will be expecting us to go there."

Starn looked at him and said, "What are you suggesting?"

Toran replied, "If the enemy thinks it can predict our actions our only Practical is to be unpredictable and strike where it is not expecting."

Priyar shook his head and said, "I am not sure what you are thinking but there are only so many ways to destroy a ship this size, the Hive Mind will have every vulnerable point covered."

Toran cocked his head to one side and said thoughtfully, "Perhaps not every vulnerability."

Lorath interrupted to bark, "Wait you're not seriously considering this, he is a novice among us, why are you listening to him?"

Everybody turned to look at him in surprise and then Zeax replied, "He holds the Sword of Thiel."

Of all the responses Toran was expecting to hear that was most certainly not among them and it made him look down at his own hand which still bore the electromagnetic longsword. Unlike the rest of his amour its metal was pristine and unblemished, the ancient mysteries wrought into its forging shielding it from harm. He glanced up again and saw the way everybody was looking at him with awe (or in Lorath's case resentment) and for some reason it made him distinctly uncomfortable. He looked at Sergeant Starn then slowly and with great effort he lifted the sword, holding it hilt first to say, "I am being presumptuous… this should be yours."

A strange expression crossed Starn's face and he said, "I cannot."

Toran pressed the blade forwards insisting, "You are the senior brother it is only right you should bear it."

Starn actually lifted his hands palms outwards and said, "You cannot offer me that blade."

Toran was mystified by the reaction and lowered his arm, he looked about in confusion not understanding everybody's strange attitude.

Priyar saw his bafflement and said, "Oh of course… you are new to the First Company and have yet to undertake the higher rites and rituals, you do not understand what it means to hold that blade. Legend says this sword was awarded to Aeonid Thiel at the battle of Calth by the Primarch himself, you are holding a relic that has known the touch of Roboute Guilliman: it is no mere weapon… it is a legacy."

Toran looked down at his hand in amazement, scarcely able to believe he was holding something that had been touched by his gene-sire, ten thousand years gone. Yet oddly he felt no special connection, no aura of divine splendour, it was a remarkable weapon but still just a weapon to him.

Zeax however was nodding as if they were talking about the Golden Throne itself and said, "That sword has been passed from the hand of one brother to another, warrior to warrior for five thousand years. In the history of the Chapter it has never been held by any Astartes who ranked less than a Captain and most of those went on to be First Captains and Chapter Masters."

Starn finished the narrative saying, "It cannot be set aside, handed off or gifted to another save in death. Tradition demands that this legacy is your burden to bear until you die."

Toran had no idea the blade had such a special significance to the Chapter, of course he had heard tales and stories but they had always been rather big on hyperbole and somewhat short on details. He had always assumed the sword was just another badge of rank and privilege for the most senior captains. Among the squad only Lorath did not seem impressed and begrudgingly said, "That is all well and good but we still have the little problem of a ship full of Tyranids to deal with."

Starn nodded and said, "The mission remains the same, destroy or cripple the ship and get word out to the Imperium of the coming invasion."

Pryiar drew in a breath and said "We need a way to destroy this ship that does not involve any of the primary systems or critical areas; they will be guarded beyond our ability to overcome."

The squad looked at Hevostan but he seemed lost in his work, whatever was wrong with him blinded him to everything save his repairs of the delicate inner mechanisms of Zeax's suit. Suddenly the vox network roared with static and Hevostan stepped back satisfied as everybody felt their machine spirits stir into life once more and mobility returned.

As they checked their weapons Toran drew in a breath and said, "Well there is one other way to destroy a ship."


	8. Chapter 8

**Vacuus Cymba: Chapter 8 **

The Manifest Destiny was a seething hive of activity, thousands of clawed monstrosities awakening in its holds and being directed by the Hive Mind to boil outwards. They filled every nook and cranny, every compartment in a rising tide as they swept for the intruders in their nest and their hunger knew no bounds.

The squad had been forced to move fast, pushing their lumbering Terminator plate to its maximum tolerances in order to stay ahead of the skittering nightmares on their tail. There had been no point in being elusive; the Xenos knew the ship as well as they did so they had taken the most direct path to their goal, charging through junctions and access ways without pause.

Many times they had seen genestealer hybrids tending to the ship and obliterated them effortlessly with storm bolter fire. They had been swift and brutal executions but even then the squad knew that the hybrid's absence would be noted by the Tyranids and would act like a beacon to the rest of the creatures: they did not have long.

They pressed onwards down a blank metal tunnel and at last they sighted their objective, a plain metal hatch indistinguishable from a thousand others yet concealing something of vital importance. The squad did not hesitate or pause but simply stormed through the hatch emerging into a vast chamber.

The room was hundreds of metres long, thickly reinforced and filled with baffles, seals and energy fields. They all served to isolate explosives the size of buildings, for this was one of the ship's many magazine rooms.

Scattered around the long echoing room were an assortment of twisted hybrids, they tended to the volatile munitions with care so precise it seemed bizarre coming from such inhuman freaks. Yet when the hybrids saw them emerge into the chamber the change in them was instantaneous, they dropped tools and ran screaming at the intruders with bestial expressions on their faces.

The Terminators did not waste any of their dwindling Storm Bolter ammunition on the foe, meeting them with fist and blades only. The hybrids struck first to scratch and chip away at the blank armour but in return they were ripped asunder by the doughty weight of the Terminator's weapons. Energy fields flared and blood was sprayed everywhere giving the Space Marines a new, more macabre paint scheme.

Toran was thrusting the Sword of Thiel at a mutated horror with four arms and as he did so he felt no resistance at all, a simple twist and a hybrid's corpse merely collapsed at his feet as he struck down another and another with merciless fury. The power of the blade was remarkable and he had never felt so deadly or so skilled yet he did not feel like he had the right to be holding it, he did not feel like he had earned this power or the burden that came with it.

The Terminators waded into the crowd obliterating everything in reach, effortlessly smiting and rending the foe into steaming piles of gore. In seconds they had decimated the hybrids and Zeax claimed the last kill by swing his melted flamer like a club to stave in a hybrid's skull.

Silence fell in the magazine and Toran took a moment to look about noting the efficient placement of winches and the two reinforced hatches in the roof that led to the weapons arrays. It was an odd thought that generations of crew had lived their lives in this room, surrounded by ordnance that could obliterate them all should the slightest mistake occur. For this was no normal magazine, this was where the Manifest Destiny stored its Magma bombs.

Toran lowered his gaze and was surprised to see that everybody was standing still awaiting his next order, he drew in a breath and said, "Zeax secure the room and kill any survivors, Lorath, Starn start at opposite ends of the magazine, smash every dampening field and failsafe you can find. Priyar guard the door while Hevostan rigs the magma-bombs to detonate. Set the timer for one hour's delay only, if we are not off this ship by then we cannot risk the enemy finding and disarming the detonation sequence."

As the squad broke up and went to their posts Toran gritted his teeth in exasperation, his brother's attitude was growing weary and it was in total contradiction to the Codex Astartes. Starn was the Sergeant here and should be the one giving orders but for some baffling reason everybody kept looking to Toran for direction, well except for Lorath he could be counted on to be his typically sullen and resentful self.

Still it was galling to think they expected him to act like some epic hero simply because he held an ancient sword. Toran greatly admired his brother's ferocity and discipline, he would die for any one of them but sometimes their archaic superstitions made him want to pull out his hair.

Customs and rituals had their place of course, in fact he greatly respected the finer traditions of the Chapter but in his opinion they should not be allowed to interfere with the proper execution of battle or the chain of command. Yet his brothers persisted with their byzantine dogmas and creeds,

For the first time Toran wondered if perhaps he was the odd one out, if perhaps there had been some undetectable flaw in his hypno indoctrination. He had always benefitted from a freedom of thought that most Space Marines did not enjoy or perhaps it was more that he was a throwback to the era of the Great Crusade, when Astartes were more rational and had suffered no compromise with superstition.

Toran snarled in frustration for these thoughts were beneath him, a Space Marine had to be sure and confident of purpose at all times but carrying this relic blade was making him doubt himself, a weakness no Astartes could tolerate. He decided that as soon as he returned to the Fortress Monastery he would speak to the Chaplains and beseech them to find some loophole in the traditions that would let him get rid of the blasted thing.

Surely some of the more hidebound brothers would protest but he himself would be content to disappear back into the rank and file once more. He banished the moment of doubt from his mind and began walking to inspect all was well with his brothers.

Zeax was checking the corpses of the foe making sure there were no surprises lurking for them while Hevostan was hunched over by single warhead. He still had not said a word to anyone and was clenching his right fist to his guts as if holding something still within him, his other arm was buried up to the shoulder within the bomb's casing making arcane adjustments to its inner workings.

Toran knew that any ship's magazine was designed specifically to prevent what the Space Marines were attempting; they were deliberately invested with layers of baffles, isolation points, vacuum chambers and dampening fields. On a normal ship that would have been enough but this was not a normal ship and this was not normal ordnance.

Magma Bombs were city killers, designed to obliterate whole urban environments in one shot without leaving residual radiation. The last time Toran had served on this ship he had read a report on exactly what would happen if a single bomb ignited a chain reaction in the magazine and he had been shocked to learn just how volatile the munitions were.

It was for this reason that the magazine was fitted with dozens upon dozens of fail safes to prevent premature detonations, fail safes Starn and Lorath were systematically smashing apart one by one. He could see that the pair were breaking every piece of equipment and safety feature they could find, Lorath in particular seemed to be taking great relish in punching holes into vacuum chambers and rendering them useless.

Toran left them to it and walked up to the hatch where Priyar was standing, sweeping back and forth with his Storm Bolter. He opened a private link to ask, "Anything yet?"

Priyar answered, "I have not seen anything but my asupex is going crazy with motion, the swarms cannot be more than one or two compartments away: Hevostan better be fast or we will be trapped in here."

Toran said, "The mysteries of the Omnissiah are not for us to know, it will take as long as it takes."

Priyar grunted, "We must trust that the Machine Spirits are willing, we still need to get off this ship and warn Terra about the third Hive Fleet."

Toran eyed his brother, weighing his words and wondering about his character, he decided to probe further and asked, "Brother, I need your honest assessment of the danger these Tyranids represent to the Imperium."

Priyar replied sternly, "There can be no doubt that they are a most dire threat, I would even say that apart from the Black Crusades the Imperium has not seen such calamity since the Age of Apostasy."

Toran considered his next words carefully and said, "Do you think our Chapter could stand alone before the might of the Hive Fleet?"

"Did you not see the beasts we fought?" Priyar scoffed, "That is but the merest wisp of the might the true Hive fleet will unleash, facing them will be a nightmare beyond any one army's ability to overcome."

Toran 's next question was most leading, "What would you say if I told there are some who hold that the Chapter should be fighting alone, without direction or support from Terra, free to follow our own path?"

Priyar growled, "I have heard such talk before and anyone who says so is a fool. With the emergence of these Tyranids it is clear the Storm Heralds cannot fight alone, now more than ever we must stand united with our fellow men."

Toran was pleased by his response and saw in his brother a kindred spirit but before he could pursue the matter there was noise behind them.

The pair turned to see Hevostan had finished his preparations and was swiftly riveting a panel back onto the Magma-bomb he had been working on. He finished by liberally sprinkling blessed oils onto the warhead then stood up and limped towards the hatch, walking past the brothers without saying a word.

Toran realised the countdown had already begun and called, "To me Brothers and be swift, these fiends have less than one hour to live. We have to get off this ship before its doom falls!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Vacuus Cymba: Chapter 9 **

Through the bleak corridors the squad raced, fighting for speed with every breath in their bodies, they raced against the clock to reach their boarding torpedo but time was against them. Every few minutes they ran into broods of gaunts or hybrids that fell upon them with claw and fang, they had dealt with each one but every fight cost them time: precious time they could not afford.

As they ran onwards Toran was checking the countdown in his visor and calculating their remaining time. He was not the only one for Zeax announced, "It is too late, even without another ambush we cannot make the torpedo in time."

The squad pulled up short, everybody knowing his words to be true and Lorath said, "We have to try."

Priyar countered, "No it is impossible, we need an alternative."

Lorath said, "What about the Thunderhawk bays?"

"Too far" replied Starn, "It would take twice as long."

"The saviour pods then" said Lorath, "Or the Teleport bays, warp hells we could break into an assault squad's equipment locker and steal jump packs."

"Don't be ridiculous" said Zeax, "I say we find that Hive Tyrant and make one last kill before the end."

"Redundant" said Starn, "It will die anyway when the Magma-Bombs go off."

While they had all been talking Toran was looking at the deck signs and trying to pin point their location, then a thought suddenly occurred. He exclaimed, "Wait, there is one other option, we are near a tertiary loading dock. It was used by serfs to transfer personnel and perishable cargos between ships, there maybe be a craft in there we could use."

"Maybe?" barked Lorath, "You would risk everything on a maybe?"

Priyar said, "A Thunderhawk Transporter, an Aquilla lander, Throne I would even take a servitor driven cargo tug right now."

Starn said, "We have nothing to lose, we should at least try."

With the Sergeant's backing the squad could not argue any further and swiftly set off again, taking turns and hatches that led towards the outer hull. As they lumbered along they could hear skittering noises everywhere and their internal auspexs were whited out by the mass of motion all around them.

They pushed harder, straining their bulky plate to the maximum until the servos groaned at the pace. They hastened down a wide corridor until at last they passed under an arched gateway to burst out into the long hanger bay of the loading dock but then they pulled up in disappointment.

Before them the long bare floor of the hanger ran right up to the shimmering atmospheric integrity field, the deck was strewn with tools, cables and fuel bowsers but no bulky transporters. The deck's launch rails were empty of the large craft they would need to evacuate, every rail was bare save one and all it carried was a tiny little Arvus Lighter.

The squad walked up to it in disappointment and evaluated the craft, it was tiny, barely big enough to carry a half dozen men. For a couple of Space Marines it would have been a crushing squeeze, for five Terminators and a Techmarine it was physically impossible to fit inside. Nobody said what they were thinking but they all knew they had wasted too much time reaching this point; there was no time to find another route off the ship.

Priyar sucked in a breath and said forlornly, "Well that's it then."

Zeax said, "We die in service to the Emperor, there is no higher calling."

Lorath however was still looking for any option and said, "What if we just jump into the void and let inertia carry us away?"

Starn was grimly resolute and said, "No the bombs detonate in only a few minutes, we would not get clear in time."

Toran however was watching Hevostan, the Techmarine was busily connecting a fuel bowser to the Arvus and engaging the pumps. He frowned and said, "Wait… the lighter cannot carry all of us, but if Hevostan pilots it out of here maybe just one of us could fit into the rear compartment."

Everyone turned to look at him and Starn said, "Very well, you climb on board and get clear."

"Me?" asked Toran in surprise, "I meant that you should go, you are the senior brother."

Priyar countered him saying, "No you have to go, you carry the Sword of Thiel."

Toran's jawed dropped and he said, "I will not abandon you because of some relic, I will not leave you to die."

"Now he decides to follow protocol" muttered Lorath, "Listen I do not like it either but you have the blade and its legacy cannot end here, you must take it to safety."

Toran couldn't believe what he was hearing and thrust the blade hilt first to Starn saying, "You said the sword can only be passed on in death, well I will die here and I am bequeathing it to you."

Starn was firm in his refusal though saying, "No, you cannot throw this burden away, you will get in that lighter and carry a warning to the Chapter. That is an order."

Toran groaned, of all the times for Starn to remember he was actually in command. He wanted to argue more but orders were orders and he could not disobey a direct command from a superior.

Toran was about to salute and make some clichéd platitudes but they were abruptly interrupted as Hevostan disconnected the fuel bowser and limped around to the hatch dragging a cable behind him. It was one of the deck ties that were used to hold down gunships and transporters, only as thick as a man's finger but strong enough to secure a battle tank on a pitching deck.

The Techmarine disappeared into the Arvus as the squad watched with bafflement, then he remerged running the cable out with his one good hand as he went. He limped up to Zeax and secured the cable to an equipment clamp on the back of his armour and then he walked up to Priyar doing the same thing.

As they watched him going from man to man securing each in turn Lorath said, "Please tell me he's not planning to do what I think he is doing."

As Toran was being secured he said, "If you think he's planning to drag us behind the Arvus then you are right."

Lorath snarled "That is the stupidest…" He didn't get to finish his sentence for there was a sudden crescendo of screeching and a scrambling of claws from the entranceway: the Tyranids had found them.

An avalanche of chitinous horrors exploded into the hanger, hundreds of bounding gaunts and purestrains leaping forwards with talons raised. The Terminators instantly formed a firing line, all arguments forgotten in the face of the enemy, they waited a single moment to select targets and then let fly with Storm Bolters.

Four twin streams of bolt rounds punched into the oncoming swarm, blasting away limbs and exploding exoskeletons. Monsters fell before the might of the Space Marines but the horde kept pouring out of the gate in an endless river of chitin.

The Terminators stood firm as the mass of Xenos swept forwards, forming a wall of ceramite against the advance of the aliens. Behind them Hevostan finished connecting them together, Sergeant Starn being the last in line and then he limped up the Arvus' ramp. As the hatch whined closed and the engines began to grind through an emergency preflight warm up Starn shouted, "Hold the line brothers, here we stand and none shall pass!"

Toran heard the cry over the roar of battle and redoubled his fire, blasting apart guants with every shot. His magazine ran dry and he ejected the clip with a flick of his thumb, he lowered the Storm Bolter to insert another but found to his horror there were none left: the squad was out of ammo.

The Tyranids boiled forwards hungry for the kill but the Terminators were far from helpless, they met the leaping Xenos with Power Fists and swords cutting them down in droves. Claws gouged at their plate and fangs bit hard but they smote all within reach, dealing a terrible vengeance on the foe.

The Terminators stood proud against the sea of chitin, hacking and slashing in their determination to keep the foe at bay but the worst had yet to come. Above the horde rose a massive shadow, a monster with a pitted, scarred hide and only two massive scything talons: the Hive Tyrant had come.

With the Hive Tyrant present the swarm redoubled their attacks, pressing forwards in an overwhelming tide. The Terminators were drowning in foes and it became clear, they could not win this fight.

Sergeant Starn saw that this was the moment upon which the whole battle would turn and did not hesitate. He pivoted back and swept his fist behind him to sever the cable tie on his back then he pounded forwards. He smashed lesser beasts aside as he ran at the Tyrant like a bull through long grass and nothing could stop him.

Toran was hacking Xenos apart with his sword but still yelled, "Sergeant don't do it!"

Starn did not pause but yelled, "Get clear and complete the mission; I will buy you the time!"

Toran could only watch Starn's suicidal charge from afar and it was the most valiant and noble action he had ever witnessed. One marine against the pinnacle of the Xeno's might, one man determined to deny the eternal hunger of an entire species.

The swarm paused momentarily, turning back to meet the sergeant's charge and Starn cried, "We are the Emperor's…" but the rest of the cry was drowned out as the Arvus' engines ignited at last and it roared forwards on a comet tail of fire.

For one moment the heat of the rockets swept over the combatants, blasting away Xeno bodies even as it made the Terminator's plate glow cherry red. Then the cable snapped taut and Toran felt like he had been kicked in the chest by a Dreadnought as he was wrenched off his feet.

The lighter ran down the launch rails with astonishing acceleration and Toran was slammed into the deck hard enough to make stars flash before his eyes, a sensation he had thought had been cut out of him during his ascension. The cable whipped back and forth, thrashing the Terminators helplessly behind it as they smashed into the deck and each other with bone shattering force.

Mortal men would have been reduced to paste by the forces wrought upon them and even the Space Marines felt battered and bruised. Toran was being thrashed back and forth and he almost lost his grip on the Sword of Thiel but held on grimly and clamped both hands around the blade.

Then the Arvus shot out past the atmospheric shield and the Terminators were dragged out behind it, Toran's last sight was of the giant Hive Tyrant rearing up high over the lonely figure of Sergeant Starn. The Sergeant was surrounded by skittering horrors yet stood proud and undaunted in the face of death itself.

Then they all shrank into a distant blur as the Arvus lighter fled into the infinite black of space.


	10. Chapter 10

**Vacuus Cymba: Chapter 10**

A roaring comet of fire was streaking across the midnight sky, the Arvus Lighter struggling to break clear and pushing its engines to the maximum. The pilot seemed to be struggling with the controls for the tiny lighter swung widely from side to side, engines flaring and cutting out at random. The effect on the craft was jarring but for those being dragged behind it was devastating, every jostle of the Arvus was transmitted up the cable to snap them back and forth. Every time the engines cut out they would all go sailing forwards in a heap but when they cut back in they would snap out like a plumb line.

Toran was being repeatedly smashed into his brothers, every impact ringing in his ears and he was growing seriously concerned about the state of their armour's void seals. A jostle in the line sent Lorath caroming towards him and he drove helplessly into his brother with the force of a pile driver, Toran was sent spinning into the vacuum but was pulled up short when the line yanked him back again.

His head snapped forwards and he saw Lorath swinging back round, arms and legs flailing at nothing in the vacuum, Toran let free one hand from his sword and reached out to grab him. The pair impacted together and Toran grabbed at Lorath's shoulder pad but his gauntlet scrabbled across the smooth surface and was unable to find a grip as they floated apart.

Toran gritted his teeth and waited for the next jerk to bring him back again, this time Lorath was inverted and as the boots hit his midriff he was able to reach out and snagged one of the exoskeleton struts on the leg. Toran held on tightly to his brother and refused to let go as they were flung about.

Suddenly Toran felt a tug on his belt and he was just able to crane his head about enough to see that Priyar had one hand on his belt, hanging on determinedly. The other hand was locked around Zeax's melted flamer making them into a chain of armoured figures. With them effectively reduced to one unit the jarring motion was significantly reduced and they were able to take stock. Toran found himself facing back towards the shrinking silhouette of the Manifest Destiny, the ship was sailing serenely along as if nothing was wrong and he could not help but wonder if their sabotage had been undone.

He opened his mouth to ask if anyone knew how much longer was left on the countdown but before he could speak there was a brilliant flash of light. A magnesium flare lit up the black velvet background and it was so bright it made Toran's autosenses blank out his vision, for long seconds all was black then the filters dropped.

Toran gasped for the Manifest Destiny was burning from stem to stern, blazing so brightly he could see it even without the light of a sun. The ship was surrounded by a cloud of expanding debris and most the middle portion was just gone, the forecastle and bridge tower stood proud over a gaping crater making the ship look like an elongated 'U'.

As Toran watched air spewed form the vast crater spilling multi limbed bodies into the freeze cold and they kicked feebly as the icy grip of death claimed them. The ship's plasma drives were flaring erratically, pushing the ship into a tumble and making its prow dive down.

As he watched he saw that the wrecked beams and cracked struts of the remaining superstructure could not take the enormous strain and began to shatter. The stern came away from the prow snapping the ship across its width creating two separate masses of drifting metal but then the reactors finally failed and the vessel disappeared in a blazing inferno of brilliant light and fire. The squad watched on from afar, witnessing the death of the ancient ship and its deadly cargo of Tyranids. Priyar was the first to speak over the Vox network saying, "She was a fine ship once before the Xeno got their filthy claws on her."

Toran answered, "Her spirit has been avenged as have our brothers."

Zeax declared, "Burning on mountain of dead enemies; we could erect no greater pyre to Athead and Starn."

"They died well indeed" agreed Toran "They prevented the Hive Mind's advanced scouts from casting the Shadow in the Warp between Segmentum's Solar and Tempestus. The Imperium will never know its only chance to beat the Tyranid menace is all thanks to them."

Zeax said "Would that we all could know such glorious deaths."

"Is that it then?" asked Priyar, "Is the fight over?"

"Far from it" replied Lorath, "There is still that Hive Fleet out there and the war to stop it will be terrible indeed."

Toran said, "He is right, the Chapter has to be warned about what is coming, Zeax can you pull us up to the Lighter?"

Zeax replied gruffly, "Not until the damn engines stop burning my scalp off."

For long minutes the squad dangled there helplessly, unable to do anything except watch the receding pyre of the Manifest Destiny fade behind them. Suddenly after an indeterminate amount of time the Arvus' engines died and it went cold and dark. The squad was left floating weightless in space drifting behind the cold dead lighter and wondering as the fate of its pilot. Zeax was able to get a hold of the cable and with one sharp tug pulled them towards the tiny craft; they grabbed onto its wing pylons and held on firmly lest they drift off again.

Carefully they manoeuvred themselves around the boxy hull, Toran going very slowly as he had to keep one hand on his sword at all times. Eventually they gathered round to the front window and gazed in seeing Hevostan sitting still and unmoving. Toran felt alarm grow in his chest and he hurriedly banged on the window with the hilt of his sword. He was relieved when Hevostan's head rose and looked at him.

The vox sizzled then a faint voice came through, weak but alive, "Do you mind, I am trying to enact a sus-an-membrane coma."

Toran was heartened to hear his the Techmarine's voice and said, "Brother you live!"

Hevostan managed to sound disgruntled and said, "That is a redundant statement, I am obviously alive."

Toran replied, "I have been concerned, you haven't said a word since the attack."

Hevostan replied frankly, "My augmetics suffered serious degradation; I have been forced to devote the majority of my processing ability to appeasing the Motive Forces."

Toran knew exactly how pedantic servants of the Omnissiah could be and said, "I meant I was worried about your health."

"Oh that" said Hevostan as if it were not of any great import, "I have endured first to third degree burns across eighty seven point three percent of my surface area, I suspect my epidermis will need completely replacing with synth-flesh."

"What about your arm?" piped up Lorath.

Hevostan stated "My limb has been welded to my abdominal plates; it will require amputation and replacement once we return to the Fortress Monastery."

Toran was relieved to hear Hevostan would live, even though he did not seem in the least bit bothered by the injuries to his flesh. He spoke up saying, "About that… how are we getting home?"

Hevostan replied, "The detonation of the Strike Cruiser cannot have evaded the SDF's long range auspex's, a ship will doubtless be sweeping this region within a few months. To increase the probability of detection I have activated the Arvus' distress beacon, I recommend you implore your armour's Machine Spirits to do the same."

"So we are trusting to the competence of the local defence officers," rumbled Lorath, "That is hardly reassuring."

"As a failsafe I have enacted a fuel conversing burn towards the primary biosphere" declared Hevostan, "It should bring us into the habitable zone in as little as sixteen years."

Toran gulped, even for an Astartes that was a long time to adrift in the cold vacuum of interplanetary space but what other choice did they have. He looked at his brothers and said, "We are wasting precious oxygen so let us get on with it, secure yourselves to the hull I don't trust one cable to keep us all together for one year let alone sixteen."

The squad spread out clamping themselves down to the wing pylons and exposed handles on the hull; Toran found a good spot on the landing gear and attached himself with several equipment clips. Once the squad was settled they all began murmuring the hypnotic mantras that would trigger their sus-an-membranes, putting them into a life preserving state of hibernation for Emperor alone knew how long. The nonsense words triggered a conditioned response in their subconscious and Toran felt his breathing begin to slow and his heart rate drop. A cold lethargy began to creep up his limbs and as portions of his brain shut down his thoughts began to wander down strange pathways, it was not dreaming but it was as close as a Space Marine could ever get.

It felt like he was turning into a worn statue, as if his body was carved from granite and everything that made him vital was washing away in perpetual rain to leave him grey and lifeless.

As the hazy mist enveloped his mind Toran heard Priyar's voice as if from far, far away, "What is the longest hibernation period on record?"

Hevostan's distant voice drifted back, "Brother Silas Err of the Dark Angels holds the record at 567 years."

"Great" Lorath whispered in muffled tones, "Let us trust that the Emperor does not intend for us to break that record."

Whatever was said next was lost on Toran as the grey fog of sleep stole over him, he locked his armour's grip around the Sword of Thiel with both hands and looked out at the distant stars. His hearts were barely beating now, so slow that he was barely above the threshold of the grave.

His mind slowed to a crawl and his last conscious thoughts were to wonder from whence in their eternal depths would the Tyranids come and whether the Storm Heralds would be ready to meet them when they did.


	11. Chapter 11

_Presenting a teaser for the upcoming story: Noctem Oritur_

 **Somewhere, Somewhen**

The bridge was to all appearances was a perfect example of Imperial efficiency, with officers and crew bustling about with well-practised ease yet scratch the surface and the veneer of perfection was marred. The crew were hunched twisted things, men with tentacles for arms or too many eyes sitting at consoles and tending to arcane machinery.

The servitor systems were wrong too, men who had not been properly lobotomised had been drilled into place, moaning and screaming in agony as their brains were subverted to manage the complex systems.

Most Imperial bridges were ornate and gilded, large enough to resemble cathedrals in their echoing space but this, this was an amphitheatre. It was a vast bowl shaped arena, with thousands of crew bustling to and fro and receded pits were sunk into the floor each housing a dozen industrious officers.

The walls and floor were curiously bare too, lacking the gilding of the Imperium or the twisted nightmares of Chaos; it was clean, efficient and elegant in its plain lines... if somewhat darkly lit.

In the very centre of the soaring bridge was the raised pedestal of a command dais, it was bordered with a marble rim and surrounded by a polished Nalwood rail and it bore a single throne. The throne was large, extremely large, too big in fact for an Astartes to sit in without looking childlike themselves.

Standing before the throne were two figures, one wore long robes over his turquoise armour that were embellished with esoteric symbols, he carried a staff crested with a three headed snake and his helm bore four twisted horns. The other was a giant even by Space Marine standards, his armour decorated with writhing serpents and chained 'A' shapes, he bore a large double headed axe that was carved with glowing runes and he was kneading it impatiently in his grip.

The giant turned his back on the bridge and snarled, "By the dark powers Beta, how much longer are we going to play these games, when will we finally launch our attack?"

The sorcerer replied, "Now, now Gamma, this is an important step in the process. We must ensure everything is perfect before we make our move, haste is an enemy as deadly as any other."

Gamma growled, "He who hesitates is lost."

Beta sighed and replied, "It took ten thousand years to complete this work, what are a few more weeks of field trials?"

Now Gamma sounded like he was grinning under his helm and said, "Single handed we have obliterated the other ships in almost every simulation."

"Almost" replied Beta rolling the word around like grit found in a succulent delicacy, "Lord Vorshaan has no use for 'Almost', either we triumph or we die there are no other options."

"Vorshaan" growled Gamma the amusement gone from his voice, "How much longer are we going to follow that damned cur about?"

"As long as the Legion requires" answered Beta, "Alpha wants this done right and we will not fail him."

"Then just kill the fool and be done with it" hissed Gamma.

"No" commanded Beta "Until the prize is ours we will act the part of loyal servants, now speak no more of this, he is coming."

From behind them a new figure was climbing the marble steps to the dais, he was clad in lightning streaked armour of mid night hue with a fanged helm that appeared to leer at anyone who glanced at him. Behind his back were a pair of fleshy mutated wings and at his waist were a pair of bare swords, marked with dark runes that leaked black smoke and seemed to writhe in ways no simple metal should be able to do.

Beta turned to face the newcomer and bowed low saying, "Welcome Lord Vorshaan, all is in readiness for your next field test."

"It had better be" growled Vorshaan the Dusk Prince, "I grow weary of these endless trials; I yearn to unleash our new weapon in genuine combat."

Beta could practically feel the smugness radiating off Gamma but stepped forwards and said, "One more round of tests my lord, just one more to ensure everything is perfect."

Vorshaan glared at him in irritation and said "You are lucky your grovelling pleases me or I would rip out your slimy tongue. If you insist then I can defer my triumph for one more go around the system, what is the status of our escorts?"

Gamma stepped forwards and said, "The cruisers Ixion and Ephialtes are ready and Phorcides squadron reports their frigates have bound Neverborn into their auspex arrays, their commanders boast that there is no way we can escape detection this time."

"Those boasts better prove hollow or I will take both your heads" growled Vorshaan, "Let us not waste more time, signal the chasers to fall back to the edge of sensor range then commence their sweep. We will disappear and let them test our effectiveness; if we can elude Daemons then we can evade anything the Imperial dogs can throw at us."

Gamma bowed low and moved away shouting orders at bridge officers and stirring a commotion in their serried ranks, meanwhile Vorshaan wandered over to the great throne and rested one hand on the stone seat. He did not sit upon it for he would have looked weak in such an overbuilt setting but he did not move away from the centre of power either.

Beta wandered over to him and asked, "Lord, why have you never had that removed?"

Vorshaan did not look at him but said, "As a reminder that there is always someone bigger than you out there and that even the best laid plans can go awry."

He lifted his hand from the throne and spread his arms wide saying, "This should have been mine ten thousand years ago, I was within an inch of claiming it for the VIIIth Legion but then that fethwipe Typhus swept in and burned it out from under me. Ten millennia I have scraped, stolen and bargained for the materials to rebuild my great chariot and the others laughed at me for it!"

He spun about and declared with anger in his voice, "They laughed! They called it a folly and a useless relic but look at me now. While all the other Chaos Lords wasted their armies on petty vendetta's and pointless wars I alone rebuilt and gathered my strength."

Beta nodded, "It is indeed an impressive and potent weapon of war."

"Impressive?!" barked Vorshaan, "The Vengeful Spirit, Macragge's Honour, Iron Blood, Endurance, Hrafnkel, Conqueror and Red Tear those are more than just names. Those ships dictated the course of history itself, the men who commanded them were kings of the nine vectors and now I will join them. A Glorianna class battleship of my very own, those pathetic Storm Heralds will not stand a chance."

Beta said snidely, "Still it can only break the loyalist's fleets and clear out the orbital defences, a Fortress Monastery is another problem altogether. Even this ship will not break their void shields, only a ground assault can achieve your ultimate goal."

Vorshaan waved a hand dismissively and said, "That is where the warbands you and Gamma summoned come in, we will wait until the moment is right then wipe the Storm Heralds from the face of the galaxy. Once word spreads that I have crushed an entire chapter countless warbands will flock to fight under my banner, I will command whole legions of Chaos, enough to give Abaddon himself pause."

Now a note of alarm entered Beta's voice as he said, "You are not planning to challenge the Warmaster are you?!"

Vorshaan gave him an exasperated look and said, "I may be crazy but I am not stupid, no a position of glory in the next Black Crusade will suffice... for now."

Their discourse was interrupted as Gamma strode back saying, "The chasers are in position, we are ready."

"Good" purred Vorshaan, "Beta you may begin the procedure."

Beta bowed then turned and marched over to the edge of the rail where he could look down into a very special operation pit, ensconced within was a large white cube that was twelve feet to a side. It was covered in ceramic tiles but through the gaps could be seen arcane mechanisms inscribed on obsidian plates and on the front were a ring of interface cables plugged in around one analogue dial.

Beta began directing gaggles of twisted Dark Mechanicus priests to begin tending to the device and as they did so the already dim lights on the bridge flickered and died. In the twilight illumination of consoles and flashlights Vorshaan and Gamma walked over to the rail and watched on with fierce interest.

Before their eyes the needle on the device began to twitch and move, then it began to climb passing through a green segment of the dial and on into the yellow part. As they watched the analogue dial crept up past the yellow boundary and kept climbing into the red, they all held their breaths for a heart stopping moment but then the needle slowed and came to rest, well into the red but just shy of the danger limit.

Beta breathed out in relief and declared, "The Primaris Harmonic Invertor is performing perfectly again, Reflex shields are engaged."

"Excellent" replied Vorshaan, "Then we should be undetectable to any auspex or visual scanners, you may begin your manoeuvres, I want us well off our last heading when Ixion, Ephialtes and Phorcides squadron start their sweep."

Gamma stomped off again but Beta said with a note of caution, "Tolerances are much finer than we expected, masking a battleship this size is a delicate balancing act, too much manoeuvring and we risk energy bleed. The ancient accounts say the XIXth Legion had to operate at reduced power when using Reflex Shields, I would recommend shutting down all non-essential systems this time and keeping course corrections to a minimum."

"I will take that under advisement" said Vorshaan as the crew hurried about their business, "Who would have thought the lost secrets of Reflex Shield technology was sitting right under our noses the whole time. A fine cosmic jest but the Dark Gods must have laughed their faces off when they put it into the hands of the very Imperials we want to kill."

Vorshaan paced back to the throne and leaned against it in satisfaction as he said "Still we will be the ones laughing when we are orbiting their homeworld and watching it burn. I would love to see their faces the moment that they witness the Shadow of the Emperor returning from the grave right on their doorstep."


End file.
